


Take Care (of Me), Please

by EmeraldSage



Series: The Holiday Collection [13]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: America being America (Hetalia), And Sledding Accidents, But don't know how to express it, Cameo Appearance by England, M/M, Mutually Unrequited, Prompt Day 13, RusAmeHoliday, SO, Sledding, except, they both love each other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-08 10:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8841880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldSage/pseuds/EmeraldSage
Summary: RusAme Holiday Prompt #13: Sledding





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, it's shorter and later than usual. Just a heads up, tomorrow's might be the same situation; I've got three papers due tomorrow evening and an exam the night after that, so...see you soon and hope you enjoy!

 

            “ _Idiot_ ,” he snarled, dragging the dizzy nation out of the mess before slinging the idiot over his shoulder – careful not to agitate any of the injuries, but half way to not caring _at all_ – before he grabbed the cause of all this mischief. _Idiot, idiot, idiot **entirely** – damnit, I’m beginning to sound like England._

“Whoa!” said the idiot slung over his shoulder, “Where did the ground go?”

            _Idiot, idiot, idiot, idiot…why am I in love with you again?_

            “You complete _idiot_ , _Fredka_ ,” he growled, “what made you think it was _sane_ to go sledding over ice and then pitch yourself through a closed window?”

            “It’s not my fault there was glass in that window!” was the slurred response he got, and he dropped the sled to bring his hand up and pinch the bridge of his nose, desperately trying to hold back the headache he would be getting from this utter _stupidity_ …

            “Vaaaaanyaaaaaa,” the slur had turned into a sing-song tune, and he nearly dropped the idiot and left.

            _How on earth did you beat me again?_

            There was a lot of furious yelling behind him, along with some concerned sounding shouts, and Russia had to stop to pacify the people who’d seen the accident. In specific, he had to pacify the rental office’s infuriated manager, whose floor-to-ceiling window wall America had just crashed through.

            He handed over one of the cards America’s government made their nation keep on him, just for incidents like these, and took an incredible degree of sadistic enjoyment in watching the manager pale when he’d dialed the number and received the information of just _who_ he was calling. Satisfied that that angle of this sudden crisis was taken care of, he pacified the concerned mob surrounding him – well, maybe _pacified_ was too strong a term; he ignored them all and marched towards the car they’d taken there, suddenly grateful that America had insisted on them coming together instead of taking two cars. He strapped the giggling idiot inside, before huffing, taking the driver’s seat, and starting the car.

            The drive back was fairly okay. America’s brain-to-mouth filter – surprise, surprise, you wouldn’t know he had one until it was gone – seem to have vanished, and he filled the suddenly small car space with his aimless chatter, interspersed with giggles. Thankfully, it was easy enough for Russia to tune out the younger nation, making the drive back relatively bearable.

            Until he’d parked an hauled the younger nation out of the car and over his shoulder, making the surprisingly aware American alert to the fact that Russia hadn’t been paying attention to anything he’d been saying.

            “Vaaaaaanyaaaaaaa,” he whined, and Russia twitched. _Easy_ , he told himself, making his way to the front porch, thankful that he knew how to get into the house without America’s keys, _he’s doing this on purpose_. _Don’t give in_.

            Yes, forget the fact that the American was probably concussed, bruised all over the side of impact, and probably had some fractured bones in there as well. _He’s a nation_ , Russia thought determinedly, _he’ll heal_. And besides, this was far from the first time that America had suffered through such injuries; half of their war had been the two of them kicking the shit out of each other.

            He’d just unlocked the door when something America had said caught his attention, and he snorted. “The next time you go sledding, make sure you find a better person to borrow your sled from. Or just get one on your own.”

            “Waste of money,” the teenager whined, “Couldn’t even break a sled properly,” he pronounced carefully, the slur fading slightly from his tone. He huffed.

            Russia kicked the door in irately and was half way towards the couch when he realized what America had just implied.

            _Wait…_ ”Did you do this on _purpose_ Fredka?” he blurted out, incredulous, eyeing the younger nation warily over his shoulder. America blinked at him, eyes wide, looking nothing less than virtuously innocent as he tried to slide the pieces of the puzzle he’d been given into place.

            _Oh, that little ****_

            America’s innocent act dropped like a hot potato when he realized that no, Russia wasn’t faking that foreboding look, nor the fact that the other’s pipe was only a few inches away from where America had been slung. Instead, he turned to half-slurred explanation.

            “How else was I gonna get you to spend Christmas with me, Vanya?” the younger nation whined, then yelped when Ivan dropped him onto the couch on his injured side. He pouted and Ivan felt a smirk crawl onto his face. Served the little brat right.

            And then he remembered that odd afternoon where England had called on him for a personal meeting; remembered gleaming, demonic green eyes, the smooth motion of the legendary _Excalibur_ against a finely ground whetstone, and the looming power of a true Empire behind those words, _“If you **hurt** my baby…,”_ and shivered.

            Alfred _still_ didn’t think of him like that. Life wasn’t fair.

            _Wait, what did he just say?_

            “All of this was just to get me to spend Christmas with you?” he asked incredulously, feeling oddly distant, as the meaning of what America had said collided with him like one of Hungary’s frying pans. The sledding, the crashes, the missing clothes, the purposefully delayed trips, the airport closures…was it _all_ because America wished them to spend Christmas together?

            “You take care of me,” the other said after a minute of heavy silence, “even when you’re not supposed to. I thought if I got hurt enough, you’d stay back for a few extra days. You did say you didn’t have anything planned when you got home…” the flush rising in Alfred’s cheeks was enough of a verification for the larger nation, who stared.

            “Why,” the larger nation said, after a moment of contemplative, stunned silence, “did you not just ask?” But even as he said it, he knew the answer. America turned away, quiet but flushed, his healing already taking care of the worst of the damage from the sledding collision.

            Their war together had played merry hell with both their perceptions of the other; mainly, in how they believed each other. They understood each other far better than anyone else in the entire world – that happened when you were fighting at the top for so long together, you began to understand each other in a way no one else could – and so he _knew_ why Alfred hadn’t asked.

            He wouldn’t have believed him to be serious if he had.

            “It’s not like I can trust you to not accidentally kill yourself trying to get around,” he huffed, mock reluctantly, and felt his heart soften as America beamed at him.

            And so, Russia decided to stay for the holiday season. And the New Year. And would’ve probably stayed longer if he hadn’t received an angry phone call from his boss demanding where he was at that moment.

            On the condition that America not go near a sled while he was there. Or the roof. Or the lights. Or _anything_. One lightning struck America in a century was enough.

            And, maybe, hid a camera to make sure the idiot didn’t try to do so anyways when he wasn’t there.

            Hey, someone had to take care of the idiot.


End file.
